


Something To Offer

by tiffany (unbrashest)



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Related, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-09
Updated: 2006-02-09
Packaged: 2018-11-10 12:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11126631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbrashest/pseuds/tiffany
Summary: Meg Thatcher, new to the job, does some soul searching.





	Something To Offer

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Something To Offer

## Something To Offer

  
by tiffany  


Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit, etc.

Author's Notes: Thanks especially to Amanda, for her indispensable aid at the beginning. And as always, thanks & love to my Obi-Kat, who supports me no matter what.

Story Notes: Takes place sometime during "Witness," I should imagine. Rated NC-17 for Meg's phone sex and other similar behaviors. I found this recently, and having written it 2 years ago, I now have no idea if a lesbian Meg is even acceptable anymore! You're welcome to let me know either way.

* * *

  
  
She gasped for air. Hot breath on her neck, solid weight above her, wrists pinned above her head. Panting, sweat breaking out all over, she struggled, but he was too strong. A large hand pressed its way between her legs. She bucked as the callused fingers brushed her clitoris - she realized she was wearing nothing and felt exposed, vulnerable.   
  
But she wanted those fingers back. She wanted to feel him inside her. As though reading her thoughts, the hand returned, and rubbed more deliberately. She shuddered against the body lying on her. She tried to release her arms to caress the naked man, but her hands were stilled harshly.   
  
The fingers moved, dipping and teasing, then penetrated, just a fraction, just enough for her to cry out. She wanted more, more, more. She could feel him shifting position, though his hand never stopped. He was creating in her a tidal wave of pressure, but he would not allow a release.  
  
She had never felt so alive, so aware. Every nerve ending was at attention, and she felt electrified. Then she was only aware of the fingers. A thumb had found her clit again, and she pushed down onto it, wanting more pressure. Two fingers suddenly slid inside, and she shrieked in pleasure.   
  
A slow, wet rhythm began, and she danced, and he danced with her. Suddenly she was close. "Don't stop," she breathed. He didn't stop. And then she felt the tide crashing. The orgasm took over her whole body, from her toes to her fingers to the tip of her head, and she heard bells ringing. And just before she opened her eyes, she looked up into his face...   
  
The alarm was ringing. Why couldn't she shut it off? Oh. Her hands were tangled in the sheets above her head. Still shivering a little from the powerful orgasm, she groggily released her hands and silenced the clock. She sighed and lay back in the bed, trying to remember the dream.  
  
She didn't see him - she could never see his face - but she knew who it was. Third time this week, Meg. You have got to get a grip.  
  
Instinctively she reached her hand out, but the other pillow was cold. Then she kept reaching, aiming for the phone so she could call Lindsay, but her hand paused halfway to the handset. Her girlfriend wouldn't want to hear from her this early. And she especially wouldn't want to hear about erotic dreams Meg was having about her subordinate. Maybe if they had woken up together, but they hadn't. She felt empty and alone, missing Lindsay so much it hurt. For just a brief moment, Meg closed her eyes and imagined what would have happened if Lindz were here.   
  
'That must have been a good dream,' she would say. She'd lay her head between Meg's breasts, and slide her hand lower. 'Who were you thinking about?'  
  
'You,' Meg would reply, and that would earn her a throaty chuckle.  
  
'No, huh-uh. Not me.' Lindsay would smile with her electric green eyes. 'Tell me anyway. Who was it?' Meg would twirl her finger through Lindsay's curly auburn hair, stalling, not wanting to admit she'd been thinking about a man. 'You know you're gonna tell me anyway, so you might as well give it up. Or else I can tickle it out of you.'  
  
Meg would grin, then and relent, telling Lindsay everything. Maybe she would get angry, but more likely she'd act out the dream. They would make love, and it would be more amazing than the first time.  
  
She opened her eyes. Lindz wasn't here. She was alone in Toronto, just as Meg was alone in Chicago. Parted again. She didn't think they'd survive the separation this time. Reluctantly, she got out of bed and began to get dressed for work.   
  
\-----  
  
"Dismissed, Constable," she barked.  
  
"Yes, sir," Fraser frowned, then exited.   
  
Meg Thatcher knew she was being irrational, but she couldn't help herself. And Constable Fraser knew it, too, he just didn't know why.   
  
Every time she saw him, she remembered those... dreams. She could hardly look him in the face!   
  
But she recently discovered that Fraser was perfectly willing to do her errands and other routine chores, especially outside of the consulate. Therefore, she seized every opportunity to send him away. Out of sight, out of mind, or so the theory went. So far it wasn't working.   
  
She drifted off, thinking about this morning's dream. It had been the most intense yet, and she wished the alarm hadn't awakened her. Who knew what next step her dream lover would have taken? Meg lost herself in the fantasy, placing Fraser's face where before there had only been shadow. He would kiss and caress her body, trace her skin with his tongue. His hands would be both rough and gentle, his lips would seem to be everywhere at once. Her fingers would find his erection, and she'd be surprised at how big it was, and how much she wanted it inside her. But Fraser would know to go slow because of his size, and because it had been so long since she'd been with a man, and she would love him for that. He would whisper, 'Inspector,' and smother her with his mouth...  
  
"Inspector?" an impatient voice asked.  
  
Meg had been so caught up in her fantasy that she hadn't heard her assistant enter, or call her name. She quickly composed herself. "Uh, what is it, Ovitz?"  
  
"A Mr. Breen on line 2 for you, Inspector."  
  
"Thank you." She picked up the receiver as Ovitz walked out. "Inspector Thatcher."  
  
"Hello, Inspector. Harold Breen here, from Human Resources."  
  
"Yes, what can I do for you, Mr. Breen?"  
  
Papers rustled in the background, then Breen cleared his throat. "There's a problem with a transfer request you made. A Constable Benton Fraser?"  
  
"What's the problem?" she asked as her stomach tightened. She'd somehow forgotten all about that request.   
  
"Well, it seems that there is a shortage of open positions at this time. Constable Fraser's current posting will have to do for now."  
  
"What in hell does that mean?!" Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears, and she told herself to calm down. If he was only a subordinate, she shouldn't be at all emotional that a transfer was being denied.  
  
"You're his superior, you've read his records." He paused, then in low tones said, "Look, Inspector, may I be frank? That man is a thorn in a lot of sides up here, and they are not keen to have him working on this side of the border again." Breen sighed and said apologetically, "I'm afraid you're stuck with him."  
  
He hung up, and Meg was left holding the buzzing receiver. She cradled the phone as emotions swirled and protests formed. One part of her was making a list of people to contact above Breen's head, while another part cheered at the knowledge that Fraser would have no choice but to remain here. With her.  
  
Another part of her vaguely recalled a girlfriend in Toronto, but for some reason that wasn't important at this precise moment.  
  
\-----  
  
Meg made it through most of the day without running into Constable Fraser again, and actually got some work done, interruptions by Ovitz notwithstanding. It occurred to her that if she couldn't get rid of Fraser, at least she could fire her smarmy little assistant. That man was even more annoying than the constable. At least Fraser was straightforward and polite; Ovitz was a two-faced suck-up, and that was something she would not tolerate.  
  
It also bothered her that he made derogatory comments about Fraser and his detective friend. She'd yet to meet the man, a Detective Ray Vecchio of the Chicago police, but certainly they were no more than friends. In any case, she didn't like that her assistant was homophobic; it hit too close to home.  
  
She was gathering her things and shutting down her computer when there was a polite knock at her door.  
  
"Come in," she called. Fraser entered and stood at parade rest in front of her desk. Oh, he does look good in that uniform, she thought to herself. Keeping her face blank, she addressed him sharply. "What, Constable? I'm getting ready to leave."  
  
"Inspector, a situation has developed with Detective Vecchio, and I feel I must--"  
  
"Fraser, what Detective Vecchio does is not your concern. You work here, at least for the moment. Is that understood?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am, but I can't in good conscience allow him to remain in jail without--"  
  
"That is your problem right there, Constable. If the detective is in jail, certainly he's there for a reason. Your first duty is to me... I mean, this office." Meg could feel her face redden as she hurriedly continued. "Is there anything else, Fraser? I have an appointment."  
  
Fraser wrinkled his brow. "No, ma'am. Thank you for your time, Inspector." He walked away, rubbing his finger over his eyebrow in consternation.   
  
Meg's knees buckled and she had to sit down for a moment. It had taken all her strength to remain so cool in his presence, and even then she'd slipped up. If she was stuck with him, she'd have to be extra careful with her words. Also she'd have to watch her behavior, to make sure there was no pressure from her, even inadvertently. Meg had had enough sexual harassment from superiors to know what to avoid. But then she'd been the harass-ee, never the harasser.  
  
A quick look at her watch reminded her that it was time to get home, or else she'd miss the nightly phone call from Lindsay.   
  
\-----  
  
Glass of wine in hand, Meg relaxed in her apartment, seated in her comfy chair, feet up on a box of books. She still needed to unpack most of her belongings, set up things like the stereo and television; her dress uniform was still buried, as well as boxes of files she still needed to locate and take in to the consulate.  
  
Lindz was the one who was so organized. If she'd been here the apartment would practically be done by now. She'd even be encouraging Meg to go out, already wanting to find the trendy night spots in this new town.   
  
Meg glanced at her watch for the hundredth time. Lindsay's nightly calls had come later and later this week, and she'd been sounding more and more distracted. In all honesty, Meg didn't blame her; she was more and more distracted herself. She debated whether or not to tell her girlfriend the details about her own distraction, then decided to only say something if she was pressed.  
  
She was dozing in the chair when the phone rang. Startled, she grasped the receiver and snapped, "Hello."  
  
"Hi, sweetie. Is it too late?"  
  
"No, not at all," Meg replied in a calmer voice, stretching.   
  
"Sounds like I woke you."  
  
"I was just resting my eyes."  
  
"Uh-huh," Lindsay muttered skeptically. "You know, it's really good to hear your voice tonight."  
  
"Bad day?"  
  
"Bad week. Ah, I don't want to talk about it." Meg could hear the slight slur, indicating Lindsay had had at least four glasses of wine already. She felt guilty, knowing if they'd been together Lindz wouldn't indulge so much.  
  
"Same here."  
  
"So that guy you told me about is still there?" Lindsay asked.  
  
"Fraser? Yeah. And it looks like I'm stuck with him."  
  
"Too bad. Cops are so much tougher to get rid of than marketing creeps."  
  
There was an uncomfortable pause. Their typical easy banter was muted now, by Lindsay's intoxication, by Meg's unwillingness to share her secret crush, but mostly by the physical distance between them.  
  
"You know, I've been thinking about you all day," Lindsay said.  
  
Meg smiled. "Really?" She tried not to feel guilty again - she hadn't given her girlfriend much thought today.  
  
"What are you wearing?"  
  
"Oh, just my white tank top & underwear."  
  
"The ones with the lace or the cotton ones?"  
  
"No, I bought several new pairs the other day," Meg commented, running her finger along the waistband. "They're still a little stiff, but after I wash them again they'll be fine."  
  
"Well why don't you take them off?"  
  
"Right here? Now?"  
  
"Why not?"   
  
Meg finally caught on, and matched her girlfriend's playful tone. "I might get cold."  
  
"I'll keep you warm," Lindsay purred.  
  
"Over the phone?"  
  
"Technology is a wonderful thing."  
  
"Technology, huh?"  
  
"Yeah, technology."   
  
Meg heard a muffled buzzing in the background. She smiled again, and ran her hand over her own body. "Which technology? The black one or the pink one?"  
  
"Neither. It's new. It's red and white, swirled around, and it feels..."  
  
"What?" Meg prompted.  
  
Lindsay grunted softly. "Oh, Meg, I wish you were here."  
  
"I wish you were here, too, Lindz." She paused a moment, then asked, "What would you do if we were together? Right now?"  
  
"I'd be kissing you."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Everywhere."  
  
Meg chuckled. "No, really. Tell me what you're doing to me."   
  
"I'm kissing your mouth," Lindsay murmured.  
  
"How?"  
  
"Softly. I slide my tongue inside, and it feels like we're connecting. Like you're mine, and I'm yours."  
  
Against her will, Meg began to picture Fraser in Lindsay's place. Fraser kissing her, Fraser's voice in her ear.  
  
"What next?" Meg whispered.  
  
"I'm kissing your neck."  
  
"My neck?"  
  
"Yes. It's beautiful and long. I find that place at the hollow of your throat, but just to my left, that place that makes your toes curl."  
  
Meg laughed, feeling her own arousal kindling. "Yes, darling, make my toes curl."  
  
"Lower, lower, to your breast." Meg was compelled to mimic Lindsay's words with her own hand. "My tongue traces a wet line, circling closer and closer..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Mmmm, now I'm sucking on your lovely brown nipple. Your breast is so beautiful, and it fits so perfectly in my mouth, in my hand."  
  
"Ahh, Lindz."   
  
"I have to remember if your other breast is as lovely as this one. My tongue trails to the wonderful cavern between. Oh, your skin smells so wonderful, I want to stay right there."  
  
Meg saw, in her mind's eye, Fraser's short brown hair between her breasts instead of Lindsay's long reddish curls. "No, please, keep going."  
  
"I keep going, and here's your other nipple. I remember now, this breast is just as beautiful. The lovely swell, here. The gentle curve, here. You are so soft, so beautiful. This time, when I suck on you, your hips roll up against me, and that kills me."  
  
"Oh, yes," Meg whispered.   
  
"I want to hear that sound again. I flick my tongue over your nipple again, and you moan." Meg moaned on cue. "Baby, I want to see you come. I want to see that look on your face when you lose control. I want to be inside you, I want to feel you, I want to taste you."  
  
"Oh!" Meg shivered. She had forgotten how easily her girlfriend's words could, by themselves, create waves of pleasure in her body. She rode the wave, with an imaginary Fraser carrying out Lindsay's passionate orders.  
  
"I have to move to your wonderful triangle, I have to know what I'm missing. I have to taste you. Kissing you, down your belly. Sliding between your legs. I kiss the top of your slit, right where your hand is right now."  
  
"Oh, don't tease me!"  
  
"I taste you."  
  
"Yes, yes!"  
  
"Your pussy reminds me of a watermelon: it's so wet, and just as sweet. And you are so soft, I feel like I'm in heaven. I drink from you, your sweet nectar drips down my chin. And I find your magic button, and you lose your breath."  
  
Meg was panting, unable to speak. But Lindsay's words were relentless.  
  
"But I don't want you to come yet. I want to see you, I want to watch your face. I move away from your clit--"   
  
"No..."   
  
"--and lick you up and down, mmmm, exploring your folds and tasting you everywhere."  
  
"No, please, you're torturing me!"  
  
"No, I'm torturing myself, because I'm aching for you. I use my fingers, and I push one inside." Meg inhaled sharply, feeling the delicious intrusion. "If it's possible, you feel even softer here. I need two more inside you. I need to suck on your clit again. My tongue flutters, and caresses. You like this, don't you."   
  
Meg couldn't answer. "Your hips rock into me again and again. You're dancing with me. I can't let you go. We are connected. This is the closest I can get to you."   
  
Meg was losing focus, now only dimly aware of the words pouring from the phone.  
  
"You're getting close, Baby. I want to look at your beautiful face. I leave my fingers where they are. I'm climbing up your body. Oo, you can taste yourself on me." Lindsay paused, breathing hard.  
  
"Don't stop! Let me hear you, I need to hear you. I'm so close!"   
  
"My fingers stroke you up and down, inside and out. I can't believe how hot you are. I can't believe I'm not burning up from touching you. You keep my hand where you need it, your hips move against me, and I love it. I keep slipping and sliding inside you, and I can see your face, too."  
  
"Yes, just like that, keep talking, keep stroking my clit, don't stop."  
  
"I want you to come now. I can feel it beginning. Your muscles tense and you stop rocking against me. I can feel you, I can feel the quiver that begins in your toes. I can see your eyes begin to roll back--"  
  
"Oh yes please God--"  
  
"You hold my wrist so tightly. I can feel you pulsing around my fingers, rhythmic and powerful. You are the strongest woman I've ever known..."  
  
"Yes, yes, please keep going!"  
  
"You hold me inside you forever, not letting me go. I can feel the tremors with my fingers. If I move just slightly, and brush your clit with my thumb--"  
  
"Yes ahh yes--"  
  
"--you will come again, harder than before. And Meg, this time you cry out."  
  
"Ahhhhhh!" Meg grunted and came at the sound of her name. She lost herself in the moment of orgasm, dropping the phone from her shoulder. She was so caught up in herself that she nearly missed hearing her girlfriend climax, too. After a long moment, she picked up the phone again.   
  
Lindsay whispered, "And I come with you. You are so amazing, that I can come just by watching you, by listening to you."  
  
There was a long pause as Meg returned back to herself. "That was great, Lindz. I felt like you were right here with me," she said softly, feeling a wave of guilt pass through her, that she used Lindsay like that, as a replacement for Fraser, whom she could never have.   
  
"Oh, Meg, if I could leave the firm, you know I'd be there in a heartbeat."  
  
"I know." She also knew that Lindsay would never give up her job, not when she'd finally clawed her way to partnership. Of course, Meg herself felt the same way: at last she'd been promoted to Inspector, and she wasn't willing to give that up, either. They were on different paths now, like it or not.  
  
"Talk to you tomorrow?" Lindsay asked, yawning.  
  
"Tomorrow," Meg agreed.  
  
\-----  
  
Hands. Callused fingers. Strong arms. Thick, flat chest. Delicious movement. She was riding him. Concerned only with her own pleasure. And she was in heaven, feeling him inside her, filling her. Feeling his hands on her breasts, on her hips. Her hands grasped his skin, scraping his chest with her fingernails. He made no sound, allowing her to leave tiny red welts on his pale flesh.  
  
He did shift position, though, suddenly thrusting deep inside, raising them up together. She gasped in surprise, and felt herself tumble over the cliff. Her orgasm consumed her, filled every cell in her body with exquisite pleasure. She collapsed on top of his body, breathing heavily, and he encircled her in his arms, kissing her forehead gently. She raised her head to kiss his lips. Their tongues touched, but somehow this wasn't what she'd imagined. His mouth was dry. His rough tongue was suddenly inside her mouth, blocking her breathing. She struggled to push herself away from him...  
  
Coughing, sputtering, gagging, then taking a huge deep unobstructed breath, she looked around. Suddenly awake, she found herself alone in her bed. The corner of her pillow was wet from being in her mouth. "This is getting serious, Meg," she murmured to the dark, silent room.   
  
Still far too early to go into work, she lay on her back, breathing deliberately and slowly. Okay, she thought to herself. What can I do? I can't keep this up every night.  
  
Her roommate at university had taken sleeping pills when the stress of classes had made her an insomniac. Her father had stuck to brandy, and didn't seem to have any problems sleeping.  
  
Shifting to get more comfortable, Meg could feel the last tremors of her orgasm still pulsing through her. She felt fulfilled. Satisfied. Happy.  
  
She didn't want to give up her nightly dream-trysts with Constable Fraser. Despite feeling awkward at the office, she enjoyed the dreams otherwise. They made her feel confident and sexy somehow, and she hadn't felt that in a while.   
  
Smiling to herself, she decided that she could surely maintain her professional distance. It shouldn't be that hard, once she put her mind to it. And it would be worth the effort to keep Fraser around. He has a lot to offer, she confirmed to herself sleepily. Maybe I can use his talents for more than getting my dry cleaning.  
  
\-----  
  
"Constable Fraser isn't here, ma'am."  
  
Meg didn't raise her eyes from her paperwork. "What do you mean he's not here?"   
  
"He left this on his desk," Ovitz replied with a smirk, and offered her a plain white envelope. She accepted it reluctantly, looking to her assistant for an explanation. When none was forthcoming, she glanced at the envelope and noted that it had been opened.  
  
That sealed his fate. Ovitz was now officially gone, as soon as possible. "Dismissed," she said curtly. Meg could almost hear him sneer as he exited, closing her office door behind him. She turned the envelope over in her hands, and chastised herself for feeling the rush of butterflies in her stomach at seeing her name printed neatly in Fraser's hand.  
  
Be professional, Meg, she thought. This is business. She took out the folded white RCMP stationery and read the short block-printed note:  
  
DEAR INSPECTOR THATCHER, I WILL BE TAKING SEVERAL SICK DAYS. MY CURRENT ASSIGNMENTS ARE COMPLETED AND ON MY DESK. PLEASE ADDRESS ANY QUESTIONS TO LIEUTENANT WELSH AT THE 27TH PRECINCT. SINCERELY, CONSTABLE BENTON FRASER  
  
Meg's brow furrowed. If Fraser was sick, why would he reference Welsh? That made no sense. Before she could pick up the phone to call the precinct, her intercom buzzed.  
  
"Inspector, your nine o'clock appointment is here," Ovitz said in a professional voice. She sighed and abandoned Fraser's note for the moment, resolving to get to the bottom of this mystery before lunch.  
  
\-----  
  
It wasn't until Meg was closing down her computer for the night that she realized Fraser wasn't there. She had been so wrapped up in her work that she'd completely forgotten to find out what had happened to him.  
  
Well, maybe that's a good thing, she mused. You shouldn't be thinking about him anyway. You should be thinking about Lindsay, and what *she's* doing.  
  
An e-mail from Lindz had appeared in Meg's inbox about an hour ago, a short apology for not being able to call tonight, and promising an explanation tomorrow.   
  
Meg decided to stop at a bar for her glass of wine. No reason to rush home now, and maybe it would be nice to go out for a change. And there were even a couple of lesbian bars not far from the consulate. Wouldn't hurt to make some friends in town.  
  
She called for a cab, and after holding her breath for fifteen minutes at the unidentifiable smell, she had the driver drop her off at the university. She felt comfortable even before she walked into "Girls Next Door" - no loud thumping music or teenagers with spiked hair and tattoos flanking the door. She paid the nominal cover and went inside, heading right for the small bar.  
  
Once she sat down and ordered her Chardonnay, Meg glanced around the semi-darkness. She saw two couples dancing to k.d. lang on the jukebox. Apart from the bartender and herself, she counted only a dozen women. Good, she decided. Need room to think, anyway.   
  
She knew Lindsay was standing her up for a business meeting and not a date, but knowing it didn't relieve her. Officially, they hadn't broken up, but what was stopping Lindz from moving on with her life? What was stopping Meg herself?  
  
You've already moved on, she argued. Here you are at a gay bar without her, even if you aren't hitting on any women. And what about Constable Fraser? You haven't been able to stop thinking about him. Does that count as cheating? But I still love Lindsay, she countered. I always will.   
  
She groaned into her empty glass. How much more confusing can this be?  
  
"Hey, lady, are you okay?" the bartender asked.  
  
"Huh?" Meg asked, startled.   
  
"You're talking to yourself."  
  
"Oh. Sorry," she said, and looked around. "I didn't mean to disturb anyone."  
  
"Honey, you're not disturbing anyone, except maybe yourself. Wanna talk about it?"  
  
Meg shook her head. "Not really."  
  
"Suit yourself," the woman said, and went back to wiping off the bar with a long white towel. "But you sound like you're confused. Sometimes talking about it with a stranger helps."  
  
Something about this woman's tone made Meg look twice. She was large and handsome, with short dark hair and a kind smile. In this darkened room the bartender looked a little like...   
  
She chuckled to herself. That's just what I need, to spill my guts to a Benton Fraser lookalike. Then, as she watched the woman tending a suddenly busy bar, Meg reconsidered. Maybe she's right; maybe talking about Lindsay and Fraser would help. Well, it couldn't hurt.   
  
When the last of the drinkers got their fill, the bartender returned to Meg's side of the bar.  
  
"What's your name?" Meg asked.  
  
"Bernadette, but everyone calls me Bennie."  
  
A laugh bubbled out of Meg before she could contain it. "Oh, Bennie," she quickly apologized, "I don't mean to laugh. It's just... Well, that's the reason I'm here."  
  
"Because of my name?" the woman frowned.  
  
"No, no, not you, Bennie. Because of a Benny. My Benny." Meg paused, a ghost of a smile playing over her lips. Dream images floated through Meg's mind: the shadowy face, the smooth masculine body, the exquisite pleasure... "Benton, actually," she finished quietly.  
  
"Benton, huh?" this Bennie said. "Sounds like a real heartbreaker."  
  
"Heartbreaker," she echoed, still lost in thought. Thoughts about how crazy she was, for her obsession, for her confusion, for her lack of faith in Lindsay. Lindsay wouldn't intentionally break her heart, Meg knew, but with everything now between them...  
  
Too much was swirling in her brain. She felt like she could explode at any moment if she didn't get these feelings out.  
  
"What's your name-" "My name is-" they both began, then laughed together.  
  
"I'm Meg. Nice to meet you, Bennie." Her proffered hand was engulfed by Bennie's large warm one.   
  
"Very nice to meet you." Bennie beamed, her fingers still wrapped around Meg's. Her clear eyes twinkled with some hidden knowledge, and Meg decided immediately to trust her.   
  
"What time does your bar close?" Meg ventured.   
  
"At two, but I get off in ten minutes."  
  
"Would you like to go out for coffee?"  
  
"We could go out. Or we could go to my place."  
  
"That would be great," Meg agreed before she could overthink the offer. Bennie slowly nodded, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips, and went back to her duties. Meg went back to her drink, and her thoughts.  
  
What have I done? I can't go to this strange woman's house! No matter how much she looks like Fraser.  
  
Meg finished her glass of wine and reconsidered. Well, why not? She's probably right - I really should talk with someone about all this. Someone not involved with any other aspect of my life. Someone unconnected. Someone like Bennie.  
  
Meg found herself staring at the bartender's hands. She compared them with Fraser's hands. They were big, strong, and muscled, like Fraser's. The fingertips were red, probably from the bleach-infused water she used on the bar. But they were undeniably feminine hands.   
  
An automatic heat rushed through her chest and between her legs, and she smiled. Bennie caught her gaze and smiled back.   
  
At least that hasn't changed, she thought. Meg was pleased that despite her recent obsession with a certain Mountie, she still responded to women like she always did.   
  
Bennie appeared. "Okay, Meg. Are you ready for me?"  
  
"Yes, I'm ready."   
  
\-----  
  
Trees. Lots of trees. Dappled sunlight. Lost. No landmarks to be seen. A chill permeated her entire body. She jogged in place, to warm up. It just made her colder. Suddenly she knew where she was: northern Ontario. In the wilderness. Hate overtook her, which warmed her a little, but the warmth quickly faded. She tried to run away, but the surroundings consumed her. The trees closed in, the underbrush dragged at her pumping legs. Panic. The faster she ran, the slower she went. She knew she was going to die here.   
  
She twisted, and wrenched, and she was free. And awake. Meg sighed heavily. Her heartbeat slowed. Stretching, she rubbed her eyes. Thank God, she breathed. Finally, a regular old dream I'm familiar with.   
  
Looking around at her new apartment -- the stacked boxes, the partially filled suitcases, the bare walls with new paint -- she felt at peace.  
  
Bennie had been right: talking had alleviated her confusion. It had even given her a night without the Mountie. Just one night, but it had been enough. She knew she could face him again without losing her composure.  
  
The situation with Lindsay would be a different story, but Meg believed she would be strong enough to face her, too, when the time came. She now saw that she had lots to offer someone, and if Lindz didn't see that, well... As much as they loved each other, they'd have to move on.  
  
One more stretch, and she rose from the bed. As she got ready for work, she thanked whatever beneficent force which had brought Bennie into her life. Just what she needed, and just in time. They even had plans for dinner tomorrow night. Chicago now seemed a lot less lonely, with Bennie around.  
  
\-----  
  
The report was on her desk, Benton Fraser was appropriately penitent, Ovitz was gone, and she felt in complete control again. Cool, calm, and collected, Meg even allowed herself to be moved by Fraser's request: to cancel his transfer and allow him to stay.  
  
Of course she agreed. Of course he would keep his post. It had already been decided anyway, above her head, but he didn't have to know that. Something had changed in her. She was in control of her emotions again. In control of a lot of things again.  
  
She smiled at the Mountie standing before her. Yes, this will work out just fine, she thought.  
  
"Dismissed."  
  
\-----  
  
The End 

  
 

* * *

End Something To Offer by tiffany 

Author and story notes above. 

Please post a comment on this story. 

 


End file.
